Covert One 4 - The Altman Code (18 page)

“You have located the American scientist?”

“And lost him,” the spy said, disgusted. “It is clear we botched the
operation. We must have better people, General. The teams I sent covered
only the main entrances of his hotel, assuming he was a stranger in our
country, unfamiliar with the city, and therefore an idiot. He was
obviously leaving and reentering the hotel other ways.”

“He’s been to Shanghai before?” Chu Kmu’rong was annoyed. “His records,
and ours, did not indicate that.”

The major shook his head. “He must have had help.”

“Help? By one of our people? Impossible.”

“It’s the only answer,” Pan stated flatly. “Someone they’ve turned, most
likely. But despite the help, after we received the authority to pick
him up, my fools did finally use some common sense and surveil all
entrances and exits. Still, they failed to see him reenter the hotel.

Fortunately, they had stationed a man inside in disguise. He’s the one
who spotted Smith.” The general sighed with frustration, thinking, as he
often did, that his budget for recruiting and training effective
operatives was far too small. He sat forward on a straight chair,
hovering like a giant bird of prey. His bald skull glared under the
harsh fluorescent light, and his small, wind-sunk eyes bored into the
major.

General Chu growled, “Then they lost Smith again?”

Major Pan related everything that had happened from the time his agents
entered Smith’s hotel room tonight, discovered he had left everything
behind including his clothes, and chased him through the subway and into
the longtangs of the French Concession.

General Chu listened intently. When the major finished, he thought for a
moment. “You still have no idea what this supposed scientist came to
Shanghai to find or to do?”

“There’s no doubt of his scientific credentials. He is what he purports
to be. The problem is what else he may be. While we don’t know yet why
he’s here, some possible answers are starting to emerge.”

“What answers?”

“A series of events that–to my mind at least–suggests a pattern and
direction.” Major Pan counted on his short, thick fingers: “One, a
certain Avery Mondragon, a well-known American Sinologist who has been
working in Shanghai for some years as a general representative of many
American business endeavors, has disappeared. His associates report he’s
been missing since early Wednesday.”

Chu hunched further toward Pan. “The day before Colonel Smith arrived in
Shanghai?”

Pan inclined his head. “An interesting coincidence, wouldn’t you say?

Second, a cleaning woman in a downtown business building discovered a
dead man in the office of Yu Yongfu, president and chairman of Flying
Dragon Enterprises, an international shipping company with connections
in Hong Kong and Antwerp. Third, the same Yu Yongfu and his wife also
appear to be missing. At least, no one was in his mansion, and no cars
were in his garage.”

“What do we know of him?”

The major indicated the dossier open on his desk. “This is his file. He
is a young man who has come far fast and is now wealthy. That he’s the
son-in-law of Li Aorong may help to explain that. Since Li is a
prominent official in Shanghai, and–”

Chu was interested. “I know Li and his daughter personally. He is an old
and honored Party member. Surely–”

“Nevertheless, the daughter and son-in-law seem to be missing, and the
treasurer of her husband’s company is dead. In fact, shot to death. More
coincidence?”

Chu sat up. “The dead man in the office was this treasurer? I see. That
is interesting. Are we looking for Yu and his wife?”

“Of course.”

“And her father?”

“Li Aorong will be questioned in the morning.”

Chu nodded. “What else?”

“Another corpse has been found in a car at Hongqiao airport. A young man
who was a tourist interpreter and chauffeur. Curiously, he studied for
many years in the United States.”

“You’re suggesting he may have been someone who helped our Colonel
Smith?”

“His photo has been identified by Peace Hotel employees. He was seen in
the lobby earlier today after Colonel Smith checked in. To summarize: An
American resident here disappears. The next day Colonel Smith arrives,
the treasurer of a shipping company is murdered, the president of that
company and his wife disappear, and an American-educated Shanghainese
interpreter and chauffeur is killed the same night and found at an
airport.”

“You have a theory?”

“Merely a possible scenario,” the major cautioned. “Mondragon discovered
something about Yu Yongfu’s company he considered of importance to the
Americans. Smith was sent to find out what Mondragon had discovered and
retrieve it. Something went wrong. For whatever reason, the interpreter
was assigned or employed to guide and interpret for Smith.”

“If you’re correct … there are those in this country who don’t want
the Americans to have what Mondragon discovered.”

The spy inclined his head. “Indeed.”

The general reached into an inner pocket of the civilian Mao suit he
wore tonight and removed a long, slender cigar. He bit off a piece of
the tip, turned it as he lit it, and puffed one of his smoke rings.

“Did Colonel Smith get what he came for?” he asked.

“That we don’t know.”

“That is what we must know.”

“Agreed.”

Chu blew another ring. “If Smith did get it, he will attempt to leave
the country.”

“I’ve covered all points of departure.”

“I doubt it. We have a long coastline, Major.”

“He isn’t on the coast.”

“Then you know what to do.” Another smoke ring, this one quicker. “And
if he did not get what he wanted?”

“He’ll remain in Shanghai until he does.”

Chu Kuairong pondered. “No. In that case, he will also try to leave. His
cover is blown; he will not be effective if he stays. He sounds too
intelligent to try to use public transportation. Instead, he would be
clever to arrange a private pickup on the coast. All we have to do is
track him, roll up any American agents or assets who help him, stop him
at his destination, and– with a measure of good luck–apprehend his
rescuers as well as him.” The general puffed on his panatela, smiling at
last. “Yes, that would be most agreeable. I leave it to you, Pan, to
arrange it all.”

A piece of the wall moved. Dressed again in his black sweater, black
jeans, and black soft-soled shoes, with his light backpack hanging from
his shoulders, Jon waited where he could watch the section being pulled
out open the entry into the hidden apartment. He held his Beretta behind
him, waiting.

Asgar Mahmout stepped through and turned to help three solemn women who
followed. Dressed in typical clothes–slacks and jeans, shirts and

blouses, sweaters and sweatshirts, one blazer–two carried makeup kits,
the third a bundle of clothes. They were fairly tall and slender and had
thick, shining black hair. The one holding the bundle of clothes was
taller than the others, with a lean face. Her black hair was pulled back
and tied at the nape of her neck. There was a dimple on her chin, a half
smile on her lips, and her cheekbones were prominent, sculpted. She was
a beauty who knew it and seemed to find it amusing.

Two more men appeared, ducking in through the hole after the women.

Asgar glanced at them and nodded at Smith in greeting. “I see you put on
your work clothes.”

“Thought it wise.”

The tall, beautiful woman was wearing the blazer over a sweatshirt and
jeans. She looked Jon up and down. “Is that the latest fashion for men
in Washington?” she asked in clear, American-accented English. The half
smile grew broader.

“Only for secret agents on a mission.” He smiled back.

One of the men said something to Asgar in a language that sounded
somewhat like what Jon had heard among Northern Alliance Uzbeks in
Afghanistan.

Asgar answered and translated for Jon. “Toktufan wanted to know where
you hid your weapons. I told him you probably had your pistol in your
belt at your back under your sweater and your knife on your leg.”

“Close.” Asgar smiled. “The other guy back there is Mierkanmilia, and
the tall lady who speaks like another Yank is my sister, Alani. She and
her friends will turn your face into a Uigher’s, if they can. They have
Uigher clothes for you to wear, too.”

“What will you be doing?”

“Figuring out the best destination, arranging transport, and becoming
Uighers again ourselves.” He motioned to the two other men. “We’ll leave
you in Alani’s capable hands.” The three ducked out through the hole and
put the section of brick back into place.

The women held a conference in Uigher. More accurate, the two who had
remained nameless asked Alani a torrent of questions.

Finally, she turned to Jon. “Sit there, Colonel Smith.” She pointed to
a’ chair. “Take off your sweater.”

Jon took off the black sweater, revealing a black cotton turtleneck.

Alani snorted. “A little overdressed, aren’t you? Must I lead you by the
hand?”

Jon laughed. To his surprise, so did she, and it struck him that she had
been imitating some American schoolmaster. A private joke for herself.

Under the circumstances, it was remarkable, since she was risking her
life for him. He took off the turtleneck and caught a flash of interest
in the tall woman’s eyes as she contemplated his naked chest.

He offered a smile. “You and your brother are different from the
others.”

Her full lips gave a quiet laugh as she beckoned the other two women.

They had been whispering and laughing behind their hands as they watched
him strip. They hurried forward and went to work on his face, first with
a pale brown base to darken his skin.

“Why? Are we different to you because we speak English?” Alani stepped
back and watched with a critical eye.

“That, and that you’re educated abroad. It speaks of a history and a
plan.”

“You know our father was Han?”

“Yes. It doesn’t appear to mean much to either of you.”

“It doesn’t, except to give us an advantage other Uighers don’t have.

Also a disadvantage, of course. There is always the chance we could
turn. We never have, and they would never suggest it aloud, but it lurks
in the backs of their minds.”

The two makeup women were in a heated discussion, wielding long
narrow-tipped brushes and pointing at his eyes and eyebrows. The brush
strokes on his skin were soft, almost tickling.

Alani spoke to them sharply. They retorted, ignored her, and returned to
their aesthetic disagreement. Alani shook her head in exasperation and
glanced at her wristwatch.

“What advantage does it give you?” Jon wanted to know.

She was still watching the two bickering makeup artists and seemed not
to have heard him. “Our mother is the daughter of one of the leaders in
our independent government in exile in Kazakhstan. It makes her, and
therefore us, important among the Uighers. Our grandfather was the one
who made certain we were sent abroad to study.”

She barked at the women who had finally begun to work on his eyes. She
pointed to her watch. “Because of that, and because our father’s Han,
Beijing thinks we’d be especially useful as leaders and apologists in
convincing our people to accept being part of China. To convince them to
give up our heritage and assimilate. This gives us privileges as long as
we appear to go along with their plans. It makes good cover, including
residence papers that enable us to move around much more freely and even
reside for extensive periods in Han territory. They watch us, of course,
but as long as they don’t catch us, we can go almost anywhere we want.”

“Asgar seems to go places he’s arrested.”

She nodded knowingly. “We despair about Asgar. He’s a good man, and he’s
never been in serious trouble yet. We keep our fingers crossed.”

“I’m trying to place your accent. Where did you study in the United
States?”

“I lived with a family in New Jersey and went to public schools there,
then to the University of Nebraska in Omaha. I’m a mixture of East Coast
and Midwest, the perfect blend to study political science and agronomy.”

And to be an effective leader of a primarily agricultural people. Her
grandfather had been thinking far ahead. “With a minor in guerrilla
warfare?” She smiled. “Asgar again. When the Soviets were in
Afghanistan, your CIA was keen to train any Central Asian Muslim ready
to fight the Soviets, and he joined the Northern Alliance. They couldn’t
seem to tell one of us from another, even a Tajik.”

The two makeup authorities finally finished, stood back clucking in
admiration of their work, and beamed at Alani. She nodded and said
something that, since the other women’s smiles remained, must have been
complimentary. The pair packed up their tubes, bottles, jars, and
brushes. They kept turning back to look at his face as one banged on the
bricks with the hilt of a dagger she had produced from somewhere under
her clothes.

Alani held a hand mirror. “Have a look.”

Jon stared, impressed at the results of his new, sticky, and very
uncomfortable mask. His eyes had acquired something of the fold, his
skin was a light chestnut brown, creased with the wrinkles of sun and
wind. If he narrowed his eyes in a squint, he would probably pass in the
dark.

“If you’re among us, you ought to go unnoticed,” Alani decided.

“Let’s hope we’re not stopped.”

“We’ll be stopped, of that you can be certain. But with Asgar and my
papers, and those we’ve forged for the rest of us, they should treat us
lightly. We’ll have to hope they don’t make us get out of the Land
Rover.” She glanced again at her watch. “The others will be back soon.

You’d better put on the clothes I brought.”

There was a touch of anxiety in her voice, as if time were passing too
quickly, and the men were too late.